


My Cheek

by Anaamikaa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Companion Piece, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaamikaa/pseuds/Anaamikaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This chapter is dedicated to oleanderhoney for being a great writer and giving me the idea of linking branches of my story to make the original fic all the more inclusive and encompassing. More on her later! Or...sooner. Not sure with this skewered timeline. Wibbly wobbly as it is.<br/>This is simply a companion piece to my other work, Alive Back From The Dead, but it can be read as a standalone so feel free to do as you wish!</p>
    </blockquote>





	My Cheek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oleanderhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderhoney/gifts).



> This chapter is dedicated to oleanderhoney for being a great writer and giving me the idea of linking branches of my story to make the original fic all the more inclusive and encompassing. More on her later! Or...sooner. Not sure with this skewered timeline. Wibbly wobbly as it is.  
> This is simply a companion piece to my other work, Alive Back From The Dead, but it can be read as a standalone so feel free to do as you wish!

 

* * *

 

     Sebastian is bored. Bored to the bone. The person sitting in front of him is chattering on about something very important. Something very important, indeed. But for the life of him, Sebastian cannot focus on the old man. It's been too many days since he has had a look around, fished in the sea, so to speak. His suit is fancy enough to chat someone up in tonight and he's glad that he remembered to put on his cologne. Better not let it go to waste.

     He raises a single finger and the man stops making noises, the look on his face a bewildered one. Sebastian isn't even looking at him then, his eyes having focused upon a woman at a table across from them. Her side is facing them and she is looking away to her left so he can't get good look at her face, but she is familiar somehow. He rises to his feet, ignoring the mute look of indignation on the man's face. He takes two steps towards her, dodging a waiter and then realization hits him. She has turned to look at her table now, her earrings oscillating gently with the movement.

     He smirks to himself. He seems to have found someone for the night after all.

 

* * *

 

     Joan sighs to herself, tracing the rim of the glass of cold water in front of her with her index finger. Quiet places seem quieter without Sherlock around. She feels lonely sitting there all alone, all dressed up for no one. Or at least that's what the people around her think. Sherlock had badgered her all day long for a lack of something better to do and she had finally given up and sent him off, promising him dinner outside. Somewhere fancy so that he could deduce all the dirty little secrets of all the patrons. He had agreed to leave her in peace for a while, muttering something about the Homeless Network. She had figured that he might fish for the latest crime, the news of which travelled by word of mouth among the homeless. And then she had resigned herself to a night of discomfort in a fancy dress.

     However, Sherlock hasn't even arrived on the decided time three hours later and she wonders what he had gotten up to, worrying her bottom lip as she looks around the restaurant. She had even put on her birthday gift from Sherlock. A dark dress, more suited to a ballroom dance than a restaurant that left her shoulders uncomfortably bare and cold. Sherlock had called it a candy neckline something. Or was it a sweet neckline? But what did she know about fashion. She glances back at her empty table. She hopes they wouldn't kick her out if she sat without ordering for much longer. She has just seen the same waiter pass by the third time now, expecting her to call on him.

     She freezes when she feels a hand on her bare shoulder, fighting the impulse to wrench it off. She looks up to see the owner of said hand and instantly smiles.

     If ill-disguised grimaces could be called smiles.

     "Sebastian," she nods with the same stiff smile as before.

     "Waiting for someone?"

     "Yes." To state the obvious.

     "May I join you?" He asks, having seated himself across from her already. She just stretches her current smile some more.

     "Who's the lucky guy?"

     "You'll see," she smiles smugly, raising her left hand to support her chin, in order to subtly show off the ring. Something within her tries to feel rueful, a little guilty even, for using one promise to fulfil another, but she ruthlessly tamps it down.

     His eyebrows raise in understanding.

     "Taken already? How's the Freak doing then?" He guffaws.

     Her face hurts from all the smiling.

 

* * *

 

     Sebastian isn't disappointed to hear that she is waiting. Perhaps if he is lucky, the guy will stand her up. He has been following this little duo on the news ever since they helped him out on that case and he was surprised, initially, to see that Sherlock's career was soaring _with_ Joan Watson by his side. He remembers Sher being _very_ possessive. Perhaps he feels so about this darling little thing, too. And wouldn't he love to see what that expressionless face comes up with on learning about his and Watson's...acquaintance with each other.

     So he sits down from across her, beginning his game by an indirect compliment.

     Her promising smile takes shape as something else and his eyes fall on the hand she just raised.

     Oh. Well then. It wasn't like _that_ between those two. Not surprising at all. He decides to see what his mate's been up to.

     "Taken already? How's the Freak doing then?" He laughs, expecting her to join in. She hasn't stopped smiling after all.

     Sherlock has always had terribly impeccable timing.

     "He is doing very well, thank you very much." Sebastian can feel his hackles rising at that _voice_. He doesn't move a finger even when he knows that Sherlock is expecting him to vacate the seat.

     And so he is surprised when Joan stands up—he had almost forgotten her—and takes Sherlock's hand and says his name and—oh

     Oh. He didn't see that coming.

 

* * *

 

     Joan's face finally relaxes when she hears the low rumble of her undeniably favorite voice and almost jumps to her feet, remembering back to  _The Time._ She remembers  _The Time_ a lot these days, every day. And with much gratefulness, too. It was when they had undergone couples counselling together. A little ironic that she was going to put up a pretense of them being together now.

      _It's my chairman. The police have been onto him. Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide._

_Well they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered._

_Well. I'm afraid they don't see it like that._

Seb _._

 _And neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get_ sidetracked _._

     So it all comes naturally when she grasps his hand with the warmest smile on her lips and leans in, mentally thanking the heeled shoes for having the advantage of being a little closer to Sherlock's height which prevents this scene from becoming _very_  awkward and makes it smooth instead. She presses her lips to Sherlock's cheekbone, a swallow moving down her throat when she pulls back.

     Out of the corner of her eye, Joan sees Sebastian's repulsive grin transform into an even more repulsive sneer and ignores it, too, instead saying to Sherlock, "Thanks for the dress." He seems transfixed at the sight of her and she feels her heart warm.

     

* * *

 

     He is listening to the oldy blather on again and can't help but sneak glances at the  _happy couple_ out of the corner of his eye. He can't believe the sight in front of him. She is playing with his hand and leaning in to him and in the next moment, her lips curl in a way even a fool would be able to know. He does a double take and blinks hard, staring openly now, to see whether he imagined the colour in the smooth planes of Sherlock's cheeks. His stomach churns on hearing her laugh, flirtatious to the core and wonders how many times they have done this before.

     Well, if the Freak has found someone, then Sebastian knows that he will, too.

 

* * *

 

     Sherlock steps into the cab after her, his eyes lingering on the wisps of hair that have escaped her bun as he shuts the door and murmurs the address. She is relaxed beside him, a faint, satisfied smile still gracing her lips and he wonders about the  _extent_ of the hate she felt towards Sebastian on his behalf.

      _But why? Why do you care?_

_Is he looking here?_

_Yes._

_Well, I hope he thinks I am murmuring sweet nothings to you._

Sherlock feels his cheeks warm again at the mere memory of her words and the smile she had offered him, and turns to look out the cab window at the artificially lit streets of London.

     He starts when he feels something nudge his shoulder, turning to find Joan leaning against him, her eyelids fluttering close. He automatically extracts his arm from under the side of her torso and wraps it around her, pulling her closer. It is with some trepidation that he realizes that the warmth within him is not just satisfaction at the night's events. Her lips are parted as she breathes languidly.

     He can still feel the ghost of their touch on his cheek.

 

* * *

 


End file.
